The Naked Truth [Ryden]

Twenty-four: Shit Just Got Real

"I hope you realise what you've done." Pete said, glaring into Ryan's bloodshot eyes as he did his best to stop the blood pouring from Ryan's nose.

"Of course I fucking do." The model replied, holding his left hand in his right, the former being wrapped in a bag of peas and a dishcloth. "I wouldn't be surprised if the police turn up soon to take me away."

Pete sighed. "Spencer had it coming to him, I guess. It's his own fault."

"Yeah, well, he's probably gone home to smash up his house or bleed all over the floor or something, I don't know. I just hope he's worse off than me." Ryan licked his lips, tasting blood. "Is that bad?"

"It's very bad. But," he stepped back, looking at Ryan's nose from each side. "it's exactly what I'm thinking."

Ryan exhaled heavily, the action disturbing his nose and making him wince. "I just feel so bad for Brendon. He wasn't meant to find out like this. He wasn't meant to find out at all."

"These things have a way of biting us in the ass, Ry. I would know."

"I...I really like him." There. He'd admitted it. It didn't make him feel any better, though. "And I fucked up." He looked down at his bruising and bloodied hands, his shoulders slumping. "I fucked up so bad."

"Yeah, you did." Pete sat beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and holding him close. "You may as well never talk to him again."

Ryan stiffened. "What?"

"But I'm not gonna let you do that. You're gonna make it up to him. I don't know how, but you are."

~

Brendon slumped to the floor in a sea of paper, the last remnants of a magazine fluttering to the ground around him. Bits of his face and bits of Ryan's settled in torn strips, crumpled from the force of being torn from the magazines, an eye torn from a cheek, an arm torn from a torso. His heart torn from his chest.

The keys had been tossed onto his bed, along with his case, and he was shirtless with bruised knuckles and streams of eyeliner down his flushed face. The wall had taken a battering, until he decided that what would be better was to take out every single magazine he owned and tear them all up. Most of them had included Ryan; he'd admired Ryan for a while, even before they'd met. It was his idea for them to have that stupid fucking photoshoot.

Speaking of which, that magazine was the only one left, and tears dripped onto it as it sat in his lap, their gazes pointing up at him. The sound of the doorbell made him jump, and he hesitated in getting to his feet, waiting to see if it would ring again.

And it did, and it was followed by a voice. Spencer's voice. "Bren, please. We need to talk. I know you're in there somewhere." Brendon didn't reply. "I know you hate me right now, but please, can we just talk? There's a lot you don't know."

Brendon shuffled downstairs, strips of paper sticking to his bare feet, and he unlocked and opened the door, peering out at the man he once loved. He hadn't seen him in two days, and if anything went his way at all, which it didn't, he'd never have to see him again.

"I watched him die, Brendon." Spencer choked out, looking just as wrecked as Brendon felt. "I watched him die. Don't you realise how that feels?"

The pornstar licked his lips and closed the door, before taking it off the chain and opening it again, letting him in. They ended up in the living room, where Brendon curled up on the couch, the distant ache of heartbreak in his chest.

"What did you do to him?" He whispered.

"He...he'd taken so many drugs...he passed out...Gee, they...they handed me some pills, said they were poison, told me to give them to him. When he woke up, I lied and said they were painkillers. He took them. He died."

There was a pause, and then: "How could you?"

"I don't know, I -"

"How can you live with yourself knowing that you murdered someone?" He sat up, hands trembling.

"I can't."

"How can you even think to look in the mirror and be happy with what you've become?!"

"I'm not, Brendon!" Spencer yelled, getting to his feet also, mere inches from his boyfriend (though surely they had to be exes by now, right?). "I look in the mirror, and I hate what I see! I hate what I've become! I hate what you turned me into!"

"So it's my fault?! Are you saying that I killed Dallon?!"

"Well yes, if the boot fits!"

"Fuck you!" Brendon shoved Spencer hard, so hard that the elder lost his balance and fell back, hitting his head on the mantelpiece and toppling to the floor.

Brendon cried out, rushing over, his heart pounding at the sight of the blood suddenly pouring from Spencer's head. He'd passed out on impact, but Brendon shook him, mumbling his name in a vain attempt to get a response. He felt for a pulse and found one, but it was weak. Slow. Distant.

He fumbled for his phone, calling for an ambulance. He didn't know if they could hear what he was saying, he was shaking so much that not even he knew what he was saying, but he managed to get out 'Spencer' and 'fallen' and most of his address before he completely succumbed to tears, his phone slipping from his hand and hitting the concrete slabs that lines that outlined the fireplace.

He sobbed into Spencer's shoulder, thinking about the mess that they'd both become, and he shook with so much guilt that he felt like he was going to explode. He hadn't meant to push him that hard. He hadn't meant for this to happen.

Spencer was right. He was the one who'd killed Dallon, really.

It didn't matter that Spencer had been the one to give him the pills. It didn't even matter that Gee had been the one to give them to Spencer. If Brendon hadn't been such a dick in the first place, none of this would've happened.

This was why he never did relationships. This was why he never did feelings.

~

"How is he?"

Brendon turned to see Ryan stood at his shoulder, and he turned back to the window, his shoulder slumping. He'd stopped crying, but he was still trembling, still scared, no matter how much he pretended not to care. It was raining outside, again, and it was lashing against the windows, making Brendon think of tiny pieces of his soul throwing themselves to the floor at Ryan's feet.

"Unconscious." He replied, his hands cupping his elbows as he folded his arms.

"What happened?"

He ignored the question. "They say he's lucky. You know what my mantelpiece is like, how hard it is. I've hit the top of my head plenty of times on it. But not as hard as he did." He took a deep, shaky breath, tracing a raindrop with a single finger as it ran down the window. The glass was cold to the touch, and he shivered. "What if I've killed him?"

"You haven't."

"But what if I have?" His voice cracked, and Ryan wanted to hug him, to hold him, to do anything to make it better. "I'm too pretty for jail!"

"Is that honestly all you can think about?"

"No, but if I don't think about something else I'm going to explode."

The sound of heels could be heard through the corridors, approaching them both, and Brendon tensed, thinking Gee, Gee, Gee, his heart pounding. A hand landed on his shoulder and a soft voice spoke his name, and when he looked up he saw her, tears rising to his eyes, and he allowed himself to be folded into her arms.

"It's okay, B. I'll take care of you."

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